


Then I try, try to Deny

by Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam



Series: Bruins in Space [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, Chara is mentioned, M/M, Montreal Canadiens, Science Fiction, Space Ships, and also post-relationship, it's more pre-relationship, lots of running, mentions of the, or it's trying to be anyway, overuse of the word fence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam/pseuds/Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam
Summary: Here’s the thing.Brad’s done a lot of questionable shit in his time. He’s stolen everything from trinkets to precious gems to Federation cargo; worked in teams, with syndicates or gone solo on planets, City Ships and Battlecruisers. For the right price there’s nowhere you couldn’t get him to go - or nothing you couldn’t get him to steal.But as soon as he sees the guys face he knows this is in an offer he won’t be accepting.





	Then I try, try to Deny

**Author's Note:**

> Or: The One where Marchy does not punch Patrice (but it’s a close thing)
> 
> Be warned, this is full of plot cliches and really bad choices that weren’t planned but happened anyway, because why the hell not.
> 
> Also, beware, this is a fic of questionable writing skill, a judicious use of the word ‘fence’ and the authors attempt to use backstory in a way that is both in your face, and subtle
> 
> Unbeta'd, we die like men
> 
> Enjoy

 

Brad’s not the kind of person to say no to much.

He grew up almost constantly in hot shit because one his brother had learnt he didn’t back down from a dare, he’d taken that knowledge and run with it. And then, from childhood to adulthood, the almost compulsive need to just do whatever dumb shit someone asked him - or in some cases _didn’t_ ask him - to do, had just grown stronger.

Once he’d given the middle finger to the Federation, and joined the less than legal side of the galaxy, it had just escalated. His reputation: no job too big, no target too small, if the money was good, Brad would do it, spoke volumes. At least, until now.

Here’s the thing.

Brad’s done a lot of questionable shit in his time. He’s stolen everything from trinkets to precious gems to Federation cargo; worked in teams, with syndicates or gone solo on planets, City Ships and Battlecruisers. For the right price there’s nowhere you couldn’t get him to go - or nothing you couldn’t get him to steal.

But as soon as he sees the guys face he knows this is in an offer he won’t be accepting. Patrice Bergeron was never exactly going to be an inconspicuous guy, the handsome, strong features and solid physique made sure of that. But the large posters with his face plastered over them, the words WANTED emblazoned in black just above, certainly hadn’t helped matters. Brad had seen this face in the warehouse district on the Detroit, on several Space Stations and even pinned on the wall of one hookups personal quarters. And whilst Bergeron's face was rather nice to look at, it had been the 1,000,000 credit reward for his capture, that had drawn Brad’s eye.

He tries to keep himself composed as he waits for the man to speak. But, well, 1,000,000 credits is a lot of money, and Brad had been living paycheck to dubious paycheck for as long as he could remember. Still, he’s a professional and so he keeps his hands loose on the table, and not frantically grabbing for his communicator as he so desperately wants to.

Bergeron looks him over for a few seconds, taking in his unkempt hair and smirk with no hint of an expression beyond mild curiosity.

“Brad Marchand?” There’s a hint of an accent there - Quebecois. Brad raises an eyebrow in response, “My name is Patrice Bergeron.”

“I know man, it’s not my mug that’s wanted all over the galaxy.” The other man gave him a strained smile at that, and it made Brad’s hands clench. He forced himself to relax them.

“I have a proposition for you, a job.”

“A job?” Brad straightened up, planted his elbows on the table and peered at Patrice’s face, “Look man, I get it, you’re on the run, we’ve all been there, it makes you go a bit crazy. But there’s a bounty on your head and you’ve just asked a known criminal to do a job for you, when you’ve handed me a free million credits by sitting there .”

Patrice doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at Brad with those dark, unflinching eyes. God he hates those eyes sometimes. It was kind of unnerving how calm he was, so Brad did what he did best and continued to run his mouth, pulling his comm system from his belt as he did so.

“I mean, talk about serving yourself up on a platter. Do you have a nice pretty bow to tie around yourself while we’re at it?”

“Brad.”

“It’s not like I knew you didn’t have some sort of screw loose, who just goes rogue from one of the most privileged positions in the Federation? But I didn’t realise quite how far gone you were, it makes sense though-”

“Bradley.”

“No way would Patrice fucking Bergeron, one of the stars of the Federation, deviate from the norm if he was still sane. I can’t believe I thought any diffe-”

“Marchy.” The nickname was quiet in the hum of the bar, but Brad would have heard it even if someone had been yelling in his ear.

It had been years since he’d been called that. He’d left ‘Marchy’ in the dust when he’d done a runner from the Federation. Left ‘Marchy’ along with with all his friends and family. Left ‘Marchy’ with nothing more than a few insults and a long trail of disappointment. He’d ground that name into the dust along with his career, future and the supposed love of his life.

He slumped down in his seat. The comm still in his hand, lax on the tabletop.

“Fuck you Bergy, that’s a low blow.”

“You didn’t even want to listen to my offer before you started insulting me.” Patrice’s stupid, stupid face was as emotionless as it had been at the start of Brad’s tirade. God, he couldn’t tell if he wanted to punch his teeth in or kiss him senseless.

“It’s not insulting if it’s true, the Patrice I knew wouldn’t have just dropped the Federation like a hot fucking potato. No, it was always duty, duty, duty,” He lets the bitterness slide into the words, spitting them into the air like something poisonous, “Wouldn’t question the Corps for a friend, yet here you are, gone rogue and acting as if I have no idea who the hell you are. My name is Patrice Bergeron, jesus christ, you’re a piece of work.”

“I felt it was a reasonable attempt to be civilised and-”

“You know what? Fuck you, you fucking robotic, self absorbed piece of-”

“You were the one who left.” Bergy said, finally aiming a stony frown at the table, “Not me.”

Brad paused, halfway out his chair, frozen. Around the bar, several patrons kept glancing their way, attention caught by the argument. He felt the fight leave his body, and he slumped back into his chair.

“What do you want, Patrice?” There’s resignation in his voice now, he could taste it in the back of his throat, along with the hurt he’d spent years trying to temper. Brad had never been able to say no to Patrice Bergeron, from the moment they met to the moment they parted ways, whatever Bergy wanted, Brad did.

“Brad.” Like a broken record.

“Just spit it out Bergy.” Patrice sighs, looking up from the table and staring searchingly into Brad’s eyes. Brad doesn’t know what he was looking for - or if he finds it - he’s not entirely sure he’d like the answer to that set of questions.

“I’m putting together a crew. When I...went rogue, it was just me and my Captain, the rest of the team were rather a bit more loyal.”

Brad snorted, “I’ll bet,” but Bergy carried on, ignoring his remark.

“We took a ship from the Starbase we were stationed on and left, it was just me and Z, my Captain, which was fine at first but once we made contact with…” Here Patrice paused, mouth working around words he couldn’t quite say. Brad narrowed his eyes at the hesitation.

“Contact with who?”

“Not here.” He subtly gestured to the rest of the bar, “Somewhere else, with less open ears.”

“It’s the Halifax slums, there’s ears everywhere.”

“Do you have a ship? I would suggest mine but I came here on a Hauler.” Brad laughed at the mental image, Saint Patrice stowing away on a Cargo Hauler to come bargain with him. It was just crazy enough to be from a dream, or one of those cheap holo-stories the slum kids were always fascinated by.

“Yeah I have a ship, but why should I take you to it. This could be a trap or something, for the Federation to get me, wouldn’t put it past the bastards.”

Now it was Patrice’s turn to laugh, a little bit amused, a little bit cruel, “Not be rude Marchy, but to the Federation, you’re small fry, they wouldn’t have sent me on a mission to get you of all people.”

Which, was this what Brad had always known? Yeah, it wasn’t news to him that Patrice was more important than he could ever hope to be, but still, that stung a little.

“Christ Bergy, don’t hold yourself back,” His attempt to sound lighthearted failed spectacularly, instead he sounded hurt, which had not been quite what he’d been going for. Bergy’s eyes widened as he registered what he’d said, and Brad didn’t think he could take an apology at this point.

“Yeah,” Jumping up from his chair, he interjected before Patrice could open his mouth to speak, “I have a ship. You want to head out now? We should probably go under the cover of darkness, you know, to keep you…”

He waved his hand in the direction of Patrice’s face. The alcove where they were sat was murky enough that the patrons of the bar most probably couldn’t make out the likeness between the tall stranger and the guy on the WANTED posters. The slums on the other hand, as grim as they might be, were as alive and observant as anyone, and Brad didn’t really want to have the the Halifax City Security on his ass.

Bergy nodded, drawing his hood to cover his face, before standing up. He was so close, the proximity after so long without it was intoxicating. Brad had always appreciated the warmth and stability of Patrice back in the Academy and in the Federation, but now it made his head spin.

He hastily took a couple of steps towards the main bar, spinning on his heel whilst slapping a large, toothy smile on his face. Anything to put even just a couple of metres of space between them.

“Come on then Saint Patrice,” Saccharine sweet, as he looked back behind him, “My Lady awaits us, eh?”

 

 

 

When he had proposed the idea to Z, almost two weeks ago, he had expected some opposition, arguments about working with criminals, or the past being left securely in the past. He hadn’t expected the sad, pitying look that his Captain had affixed him. Two weeks ago, he had put his hackles up defensively, protesting the unsaid question with his usual unwavering resolve.

Now, two weeks later, Patrice was beginning to see why Z had initially been opposed to the idea.

Brad’s face when he’d pulled down his hood had been comical, a mixture of shock, anger and panic, before it had been hidden behind a smirk. Marchy had never had much of a poker face, and Bergy had always been able to read him like a book either way. But that smirk, the anger hidden behind his eyes, and the harsh words - it was like he was an entirely different person to the one Patrice has known.

Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

This Brad, the thief who had stolen his way across the galaxy, was not the same Brad that had left Bergy five years ago, although the insults were as much a slap across the face as they had been then. Even half a decade could not mar Marchy’s ability to use words like a knife.

This plan, the whole recruiting Brad thing, had been a spur of the moment idea. A proposal based off a rumour he had overheard whilst scouting out the underbelly of the New York Space City, about some small time thief running the alias Sixty Three, who had accidentally got his hands on some very important intel. There was nothing about the comment that should have connected it to Marchy, after all, it had been five years and there was a whole galaxy of people out there. Sixty Three was as common a number as any, had significance in many sectors of the Federation - the lucky number on several Space Cities, the number of Federation presidents since it’s formation, and the like.

And yet.

And yet, the thought that, perhaps this elusive thief with the information Z and he desperately needed, might be his ex best friend had not left his head. He’d put feelers out, through his federation contacts, few as they were these days, and his more...morally dubious contacts, to see if he could get anything on Sixty Three. The Halifax has been the answer from several sources, and so Patrice had hitched a lift on a neutral Hauler as quickly as he could. He’d landed that morning, but it had taken several hours to track Brad down, and then several more hours to work up the courage to actually do anything.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to happen, a punch perhaps, or a call to the Security and trip to Federation Prison. Not this, Brad leading him through the winding alleys of the Halifax streets, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the gaze of passers by.

Marchy kept a distance between them, not too much that they could easily be separated, but Patrice had seen his face when he had stood too close. It made something ache in his chest, but he couldn’t quite put a label to it. Every so often he would look back to check Patrice was keeping up with an unreadable look.

The tall skyscrapers of the city turned into shorter, squatter warehouses and launch pads. Large Haulers being loaded with crates and black boxes, workmen swarming around them, even this late in the night. They passed private crafts in all shapes and sizes, some in the semi darkness that only City Ships could achieve, and some haloed by security lights. Bergy didn’t pretend to know much about ships, he was no pilot, and back when he’d been small his teachers had made sure to keep him away from the engineering workshops, for fear he’d hurt someone, or himself. Marchy had always liked them though, although he was a worse pilot than Patrice, something about the act of flying had soothed his trigger temper somewhat.

“Wait.” Brad broke the silence suddenly, flinging himself backwards into the shadow of a fence, his arm reaching out to tug Bergy behind him. Three seconds passed as they remained glued to the fence panel. Several meters ahead of them was a crossroads in the path and the sound of footsteps coming from the left.

Then, as if on cue, a small group of armed men strode across the junction, their backs to where Patrice and Brad were. The rifles in their hands weren’t standard issue, at least not that he could tell at a quick glance. Their uniform was not that of City Security, bright red in color rather than brown. Not from the Halifax then, outsiders.

“Fucking Canadiens.” Brad hissed, brows furrowed. Patrice felt his eyes widen in realisation, these were Federation soldiers. The question was: why were they in Halifax?

“I thought I’d shaken the bastards, shit.” Brad looked panicked when he turned to Patrice, “They were going in the direction of my ship.”

“Are you serious?” Bergy replied incredulously, “What the hell did you do to get the Canadiens to track you?”

“Keep your voice down,” Brad crept up closer to the junction, peering around the corner to look down the street the Canadiens had gone down. The men had paused less than 50 metres away, at the gates of one of the launch bays,

“Shitshitshit. They’re going for my ship, how fucking dare they.” Patrice pulled him back into the darkness of their alley, keeping a hold of Brad’s shoulders as he did so.

“What the hell did you do?”

“I might have stolen something from them.” “Brad.” “It wasn’t that important! And it was a contract job, anyone would have taken it.”

“I thought the whole point of your whole gig was to steal things without having people come after you?”

“The fuck are you judging me for? Your face is literally plastered across the galaxy!”

“Keep it down,” Bergy slapped his hand over Brad’s mouth, savouring the surprised look in his eyes, “Look it’s not the end of the world, we’ll just head back into the city and find another bar, talk about it there.”

“Has anyone told you you’re a fucking moron?” Brad ripped Bergy’s hand away, moving around him to look back down the road, “They know I’m here! I can’t stay, they’ll find me in hours. I’ve got to get the fuck out of this place.”

“With what ship? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but they’ve got your number.”

Brad pursed his lips, looking away from Patrice to scan their surroundings quickly. Bergy watched as the other man's gaze caught for seconds at a time on several different sections of fence, or a ship poking beyond it.

“We’ve got to get closer. See what they’re saying, if we can get across the road without them noticing, we can hop over the landing zones until we’re right next to them.”

It’s momentously moronic idea, even asleep Patrice could have pointed out all the flaws, all the holes likely to get them harmed, or worse, killed.

“You’re insane.” He said. Brad shrugged, but the grin on his face was strangely reminiscent of back at the Academy, when he’d come storming into Patrice’s room with mischief in his eyes.

“On my count, we’re going to dash across the road. Got it?” Bergy nodded, steeling himself as Brad whispered the countdown.

On three they dashed across the path, the thud of their boots muted against the dust and gravel. They overshot the fence on the other side, making sure to go a little further down. Out of breath Bergy waits for the inevitable shout of the Canadien soldiers, yelling at them to get down. But none comes, and Brad let out a breathy giggle of disbelief.

He tilts his head against the fence, and motions with his thumb. ‘In three’, Marchy mouthed, and once more Patrice was helpless to do anything but nod and obey.

They hopped over the fence, landing in the grass of the outer rim of the launch zone. Patrice felt his hood slide back, uncovering his face. The cold air stung his eyes but he made no move to pull it back up.

Sticking to the shadows, they crept around to where they could more clearly hear the Canadien Soldiers, just on the other side of the fencing.

“Captain said not to wait for the City Security to arrive, could be waitin’ for ages in this dump.”

“So we just bust the thing open?” Patrice frowned at the idea, and Marchy’s eyes were wide, “Can’t say I believe Marchand is actually in there.”

“But it’s his ship.”

“You’re an idiot Gallagher. Just because it’s his ship doesn’t mean he’s in there, there’s a whole damn city-”

“Who the fuck are you calling an idiot?”

“Shut it!” A loud thump from the other side of fence startled Bergy, the wooden panels rattling with the force. The culprit, who Patrice presumed was the leader of the squad, took a deep breath before addressing the rest of the group, “You’re all idiots. Domi? Open the gate, let’s get on with it.”

Patrice looked in askance at Brad, whose panicked expression had morphed into something of a grimace. He shook his head and motioned back the way they’d came. Slowly, quietly, they backtracked.

He landed heavier than he had wanted, the rubber of his boots thudding on the dusty path. He and Brad both froze, eyes locked as they waited to see if the Canadiens had heard them. They weren’t that far from them, around the corner sure, but only one launch pad away, still, Bergy couldn’t hear much more than his and Brads breathing.

“We’ve got to go.” He said after a few seconds, making sure to lower his voice to almost nothing, “It’s not safe, we can get a lift out on some othe-”

"But my ship! We can't just leave her."

"Your ships a dead end Brad, they’ll be swarming the city, we have to get out and get out now. Once they realise that you're not in your ship they’ll close any of the way off out this place.”

"I have some very important artifacts on that ship." The other man protested.

"Important?" Bergy said skeptically.

"Lucrative," Brad corrected, "Very lucrative. Either way, I'm not leaving without her."

"It's not going to happen."

"They're not actually in the landing bay yet, if I can just get in there first..."

"And what? They were opening it up as we left. And even if they hadn't, do you really think we're going get into the bay, open the ramp, get in and take off all with alerting the Canadiens?" Patrice tried not to let annoyance creep into his voice, but judging by the look that crossed Brad’s face he had failed.

“You've got no fucking imagi-” He stopped abruptly, going silent as he focused on something beyond Bergy’s shoulder.

Patrice turned to see exactly what had caught Brad’s eye. There, in the middle of the crossroads, was one of the Canadiens. He was turned towards them, and he looked as shocked as Bergy felt. Brad took one step backwards. Then another. The Canadien opened his mouth to shout.

“Hey! What the hell are you two doing?”

Brad took off.

Patrice, five years out of practice to following Marchy on his crazy schemes, was only a few seconds behind him. The Canadien followed, yelling into a communications device as he did so.

They had a head start over the soldier, a good thing because neither of them were particularly fast. Then again, five years ago running away from angry men - enemy or not, had been Marchys, and so by proxy Bergy’s too, norm.

Brad led them though the grid of landing zones, taking left and rights at random. He didn't look back.

“The hell are you taking us?”

“I don't know, somewhere not near the Canadiens.” They turned another corner, Bergy checked behind him as he did so, to see the soldier not 100 metres away. Because of this, when he slung his head round the right way, he was going to fast to prevent himself slamming into Brad’s back. The smaller man had stopped halfway down the alley, and was staring the dead end in front of them.

“Shit.” Bergy said, the only way back was the way they came, and that was hardly an option.

“Over the fence, come on.” Brad scrambled over one of the black fences, and Patrice hastily followed, dropping into the ground in the launch pad. From where they had stood not seconds before, they could hear the panting of the Canadien, as he came to a halt in the path.

“This is Unit Drouin, I’ve lost them. Send out the patrol pods, they can’t be that far.” The man's footsteps and voice grew fainter with every word, and Bergy breathed out a sigh of relief.

“We need to get out of here,” He turned to where Brad had been stood, only thirty seconds earlier, only to find the spot vacant, “Marchy?”

He turned towards to the landing zone, and caught sight of a slight shadowy figure at the base of the small ship that was parked there. He crossed the patchy grass in a few short strides, ducking beneath the hull of the ship as a small pod sped above them, siren blaring. He watched it pass by, crouched behind one of the engines. Brad was right near him, fiddling with a closed hatch in the underbelly, frowning as he felt around the edge of the entrance.

“What are you doing?” Patrice hissed.

“Getting us out of here. This is a modified pleasure type, should be good enough to get us out of the atmosphere.”

“You want to steal it? I thought you weren't leaving without your ship? And what if the owners in there? Marchy, come on, this is madness.”

It was a hairbrained idea, one born of desperation and the kind of stupidity only Brad Marchand could come up with. Bergy had been on both ends of these schemes, and it had never gone well.

“Then we take them out, we don’t exactly have a lot of choice here Patrice.” The venom was back at the old nickname, and Bergy swallowed down his disappointment. Brad fiddled some more with a small section of panelling that Patrice hadn’t noticed himself. It was loose, and after a couple of seconds it popped open with a small whooshing noise.

At the same time a second ship sped overhead, spotlight dancing over the landing pad. Bergy tucked himself further under their own ship and made an impatient noise at Brad.

“Just...a couple more...seconds,” He fiddled with something inside the little opening, shortly after there was a hydraulic sounding click, and the hatch lifted an inch upwards. Brad made a congratulatory noise in the back of his throat, reaching up and opening the hatch all the way, “Knew this beauty had a backdoor, was just a matter of getting in.”

He hauled himself up into the dark interior of the ship. Bergy hesitated, reluctant to just blindly follow.

This wasn’t the same situation as it had been five years ago, when they had been young, dumb and blind to the rest of the world. He didn’t have to go along with whatever Brad said, he could run off, head back to City - he was skilled enough to get past the Canadiens, he knew he was. He had come here, to the Halifax to offer an old...friend...a job, not end up running from the law. Or at least, running from the law more than he already had been.

But.

But when Marchy knelt down by the entrance, brows furrowed, grey eyes scanning Bergy’s own shadowed face, he knew that he wouldn’t be running alone this time.

It had been five years since Brad had left him for... _something_. Something, Bergy hadn’t been able to give him back then. In those five years he’d asked himself all the how’s, all the why’s, all the what if’’s. He hadn’t actually believed he’d see Brad again, let alone talk to him, spend a night doing something completely off the script. But here they were, and Patrice finally had the chance to get the answers to those questions and maybe, just maybe, get Marchy to stick around again.

Maybe.

“You coming?” Brad asked, “It’s just the Canadiens aren’t as dumb as they look and we’d better get going before they realise there’s only one place we could have gone.”

Patrice took one last look back behind him, out from under the ship into the dark of the artificial sky. In the distance he could make out the light of the Canadiens patrol ships, darting over the landing pads, sirens whirring.

“Yeah,” He said, grabbing the sides of the entrance hole to pull himself on board, “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand that’s a wrap boys and girls.
> 
> No but seriously, it’s been literally years since I wrote anything, let alone rpf fanfic and I really enjoyed the process of writing this.
> 
> It’s also done what all good ideas do, and spiraled out of control. I could write more of this, in fact I fully plan on it. Not just Marchy and Bergy, but the rest of the Bruins too. I’m a sucker for sci-fi, and whilst it’s not completely obvious in this one, I’ve got the workings of some evil space federation vs Boston Bruins rogue rebellion esque plot hanging around, starring Space Captain Zdeno Chara, good guy Patrice, not so good guy Marchy, pilot Noel and his two dumb friends with equally dumb relationship problems, prodigy Pasta and much more, so if you guys would be into that…let me know I guess?
> 
> Title is from the song ‘Spy Again’ from the musical Spies are Forever
> 
> Please like and comment , it means a lot 
> 
> Cheers


End file.
